The continuing evidence of the stupification of the masses never ceases to amaze me. In the latest display, Shane Warne wages war on cyclists. Via a series of often misspelled tweets.
There is a voice of reason attempting to instill some logic into the minds of Warne's 500 000+ followers - read more here.
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A conversation about life and a place for stories, snippets, streams of consciousness
Marriage and the end of suffering?
Don't take it personally when your husband tells you he doesn't love you - the NY Times gives an interesting perspective on marriage and relationships.
On my bike
The Food Issue
The New York Times Magazine recently released it's food issue. You can read it here. One month earlier, Jill Dupleix told us that Conde Nast were closing down Gourmet magazine. It was, she told us, the death of food porn.
Coeliac disease
The supply of gluten-free foods have risen dramatically in the past few years. Sue Shepherd tells us why.
September finds - here are some gems that I just know you'll love.
ANZAC Day
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
It never ceases to amaze me that no matter where you are on ANZAC Day, no matter how much or how little you know about the troops landing on that Turkish Beach, we are humbled and silenced by the incomprehensible and unimaginable loss that was suffered during World War I. The chilling photographs of larrikin men, sitting with their fatigues rolled around their elbows, grinning as they sip billy tea, the numbers that seem to stretch to infinity of the dead, and the lost youth that was taken renders me speechless.
I am vehemently anti-war, but wonder whether my opinions were changed if all those around me took up arms to defend a cause, to defend the vague yet stirring notion of "the motherland", and to be willing to die for those causes. Perhaps I lack the courage to face death so squarely in the face, perhaps I lack the utmost conviction of knowing that something is right and right without question.
What I do know, is that as anti-war as I am today, tears spring into my eyes as I stand, with my head bowed for a minute's silence, after listening to the ANZAC Ode.
Today, I honoured the ANZAC tradition by spectating the ANZAC 25 "The Soldier's Honour"- a road-cycling race that is in memory of those soldiers, who were cyclists back home, who gave their life.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
It never ceases to amaze me that no matter where you are on ANZAC Day, no matter how much or how little you know about the troops landing on that Turkish Beach, we are humbled and silenced by the incomprehensible and unimaginable loss that was suffered during World War I. The chilling photographs of larrikin men, sitting with their fatigues rolled around their elbows, grinning as they sip billy tea, the numbers that seem to stretch to infinity of the dead, and the lost youth that was taken renders me speechless.
I am vehemently anti-war, but wonder whether my opinions were changed if all those around me took up arms to defend a cause, to defend the vague yet stirring notion of "the motherland", and to be willing to die for those causes. Perhaps I lack the courage to face death so squarely in the face, perhaps I lack the utmost conviction of knowing that something is right and right without question.
What I do know, is that as anti-war as I am today, tears spring into my eyes as I stand, with my head bowed for a minute's silence, after listening to the ANZAC Ode.
Today, I honoured the ANZAC tradition by spectating the ANZAC 25 "The Soldier's Honour"- a road-cycling race that is in memory of those soldiers, who were cyclists back home, who gave their life.
Rain.
"The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain. This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency. "
~Susan Allen Toth, England For All Seasons
Impossible.
"Impossible is nothing. Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in a world that they have been given rather than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing."
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Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
Confucius.
Confucius.
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